


in the wake

by TNZ_fic



Category: Animal Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Multi, Post series 4, References to Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2020-12-24 17:24:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 14,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21103193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TNZ_fic/pseuds/TNZ_fic
Summary: In which the Codys hang out and take turns having messy breakdowns.(Episodic post series thing. Now complete)





	1. Pope

**Author's Note:**

> As first seen on my tumblr. Have a look, there's fanart.  
https://theninjazebra.tumblr.com/tagged/animal-kingdom
> 
> also massive shout out to captainsuke for putting up with all the yelling.

Pope. 4 days after.

It fell to Pope to clear out Smurfs things. Angela attempted to help for a while but Pope preferred to just do it, not give instruction. After snapping once too often she just left him to it, then tried to steal clothes out of the donation bags. He tried not to be angry, but his hands had already been shaking and there was yelling anyway. 

Angela went out, ostensibly to look for another job. Hopefully she went out to look for another job. 

He starts with emptying the wardrobe, chest, dresser. All the clothes, shoes, and handbags were being donated. Make up, remaining pills, shampoo, toothbrush, hair brush, all of it, thrown out. But after three attempts at dumping it Pope keeps her perfume, guiltily hiding it in his room. 

There are more firearms than he expected. He redistributes them about the house. 

They’ll keep the jewellery. Craig might want to give some to Renn. He’ll take some to Lena. Maybe even set aside something for Angela, one day. The rest can be fenced as needed.

He shakes off a blurry, shadow memory of Julia, missing the necklace he stole for her birthday. 

He strips the bed. Dumps the bedding and towels in the wash. Someone else can use it.

There are a couple of old shoe boxes under the bed, full of more sentiment than Smurf ever expressed in life. Pope deliberated, then shoved them in the back of his wardrobe. Someone else can deal with them after his death. 

He cleans. Smurf kept a clean house, but now he can pull out the empty furniture. He’s not sure what to do with it. Burn it? Donate? Storage? 

He piles it in one corner. Pulls the blinds. Shuts and locks the door with the key he found in the dresser, but leaves the key in the lock. Takes the last bags out to his truck. 

When he gets back into the kitchen Angela is at the counter, drinking coffee and trying to not too obviously read his mood. He doesn’t think he’s angry anymore. Doesn’t want to be. 

“Do you want to get some food?” Pope tries. 

“Hmm?”

“I have to drop off some stuff, but after? Do you want to get something to eat?” 

Angela gives what he thinks (hopes) is an honest smile. “Yeah, of course.”


	2. Deran

Deran. 1 week after.

A week after... that day Deran wakes from a nightmare. No, not a nightmare. Like a nightmare.

He dreamt of Smurf dying. But not the Smurf that died, a younger smurf. She had the loose perm he sort of remembers from when he was 8, was wearing the old cotton t shirt she used to garden in. And she wasn't shot, but her head ripped apart anyway. Leaning over him, explaining how the best way to get around a home security system was to be invited in. And then... red. 

Deran gets up, awake and shivery. Walks around Baz, no, Craig’s lounge and kitchen. He wants to scream or throw something, but everyone is asleep and Renn will hurt him if he fucks that up. He slips outside.

The cool salt air and eternal roar of the waves feel less real than his actual dream. He remembers that t-shirt, how it smelled of cigarettes and dirt, the little holes along the hem. Remembers following her around with toy trucks and diggers when he’s meant to be in school, special quiet moments of just them when he was small, before he got bigger...

He goes back in, stalks through the house until he has enough weed and whisky to see him through to sunrise. 

Deran forgot, for a while, how to do this. Insomnia. Long hours when there was nothing to be done, just endured. Some nights, bad nights, it felt like the whole house just pretended to sleep. Like how they pretended to be a normal fucked up family. Instead of what they were which was... 

Something else. 

Deran crosses the road, gets closer to the water. He suddenly misses Adrian in all the ways he’s been trying not to. 

He almost feels bad that it’s taken this long. Almost. He hasn’t really felt anything at all this past week. Just tired. He knew it was coming, been hurt badly often enough to know how it goes. The cool, sharp clarity that something terrible has happened. The calm to apply pressure, fix what you can, get yourself somewhere safer. Because as soon as the pain hits you’re not making anymore right choices. 

He settles on the seawall, starts working towards a surly kind of fucked up he hasn’t been in years. He can’t do this tonight. He’s not ready to lift his hand, see how bad the wound really is. 

**

A warmth touches Deran’s shoulder and he jumps. Or sort of jumps, reflexes delayed and syrupy. Craig frowns down from his great height, a blanket slung over one arm.

“Yo, you’re freezing. You should have worn a jacket.”

“’m fine.” 

“You’re only wearing shorts, you’ll get hypothermia, asshole.” 

The thought that Craig is now an actual, full time father, not just a sporadic substitute makes Deran give a stupid, slurry laugh. Craig scowls, huffs, and fussily drapes the scratchy wool around him, then settles in close to his side. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” asks Craig, casual.

“Didn’t want to.” Deran doesn’t think he wants to have this conversation, but he also can’t feel his feet when he kicks them against the rock and cement. 

“Weird dreams?”

Deran squints at him. 

“Me too. Dreamt Smurf’s zombie corpse was teaching me to steal cars. Freaky shit.” Craig steals the bottle, frowns at how little remains, then drains half.

“I dreamt her head kept exploding. Not like... “ Deran made a vague gesture “but like, when she...”

“Yeah. Harsh.”

They sat in silence, Craig finished the last dribble, sets the bottle aside carefully. The gesture strikes Deran as odd. Craig is, was, an enthusiastic smasher of empties. But he guessed that he didn’t want Baby Nick to cut his feet on this shit one day. 

“I don’t feel how I thought I would.” Deran says, feeling more sober than he probably is.

“Yeah?”

“Back then.. When shit was really bad, you know, I wished...” 

“Yeah.”

“I just don’t know what I’m meant to feel.”

“Same. Don’t worry about it.”

“Ok.” 

Somehow Craig hears the baby with his new Dad senses, and leaves before the grey light warms up into dawn. 

Deran straightens up, breaths deep. Watches the water. He has no fucking idea what he feels.

He follows once its light for the already twitchy neighbours to see his hobo looking self. He takes the empty bottle with him and chucks in the recycle on his way in. Don’t want Baby Nick cutting his feet on this shit one day.


	3. Craig

Craig. 2 weeks after.

Deran has slept on the couch for two weeks now. Unofficially, of course, turning up some time after the Drop closes. Lets himself in, curling up on the couch for Craig to find when he gets up for Nick the second time in the night. Sometimes he’s still there in the morning, sometimes not.

By unspoken rule Craig does mostly does nights. He didn’t expect to enjoy them as much as he is. Tiny quiet oases in the raging shitstorm life has become. If Nick is feeling especially cranky they go listen to the waves. Less chance of waking Renn and the salt air seems to distract him from whatever internal drama plagues babies. 

Tonight Deran looks worse than usual. Craig suspects that he’ll be scrubbing blood out of couch cushions in the morning. He shifts Nick to one arm and finds a bucket to leave by Deran's drooling head. Carefully warms a baby bottle and slips outside. 

It’s an unusually warm night, winds dropped off. Sometimes he has to talk to his baby a bit to chill him out, but Nick seems pretty happy tonight. Craig kinda wants to talk anyway.

“Your Uncle Pope taught me to get blood stains out, you know that? Smurf had the best recipe for everything, taught Uncle Pope, and Uncle Pope taught me. 

“Smurf was away and your Uncle Deran was being a shit. So I hit him, but it was too hard. His nose bled everywhere and he screamed the house down. Pope helped me get the blood out the carpet and Deran’s shirt and this stuffed sheep he had, while your Uncle Baz, um..” Craig stops. 

Nick’s dozing off, finished his bottle. Craig shifts him upright anyway, rubs his tiny back. The nurses all like to comment on how big his baby is, but Craig can’t see it. Have they seen his fingernails? Spent the first week terrified that that somehow he’d do something.. Drop him or sit on him by accident. Renn though it was hilarious, would fake out dropping him to watch Craig jump. But she would also always sooth him, tell him it was good, smile and say Nick couldn’t be safer in Craig’s hands. 

He thought about cleaning blood out of a 5 year old’s baby blue t shirt. How he’s going to be scrubbing the couch and feeding a semi catatonic Deran coffee and breakfast and painkillers in the morning. Nick wriggles a bit, but doesn’t wake.

They were alright, weren’t they? Like, they were doing ok? Craig can’t tell. He also can’t think about it clearly. Like Smurf died, but also his mom died, and somehow they feel like two different things. They both feel too big to think about. Like trying to visualize the entire Pacific Ocean all at once.

Some of their friend’s moms had died. J’s mom had died. He seemed... fine? Craig tries to remember Julia, what she was like with Baby Josh. But it’s hazy and confused. What had actually happened and what he was told. 

His clearest memory was well before J, watching Smurf braid Julia’s hair in the kitchen, their voices too quiet to make out anything but tone. They weren’t fighting or sniping. Just talking quietly about something. Julia looked up, saw him watching and beckoned him over, started combing out the perpetual bird’s nest he had when he was... 10? Threatened to braid his hair too, and then did it anyway when he proudly declared he didn’t care. He remembers feeling like a part of a monkey family.

Nick heaves and throws up what feels like the entire bottle down Craig’s back. He doesn’t even wake up. Craig feels strangely proud. 

Inside Deran hasn’t moved. Just breathing and drooling and bleeding. Tomorrow’s problem. Maybe he’ll ask Pope to help clean up the blood. Maybe Pope will know what to do. 

Right now Craig wraps Nick up, puts him back in bed, and gets in the shower.

***

Renn is in the kitchen, having breakfast and chatting to Nick in Spanish when Craig gets up. Deran is already gone, an empty bucket and coffee mug and one thoroughly bled on couch to prove he’d been there.

“Don’t worry, I saw him before he left. It looks worse than it was. Heads bleed like bitches” says Renn, handing Craig his coffee and son. 

“I’ll call Pope. He can get blood out of anything” Craig pulls a face at the baby, who pulls a weird face back. 

Renn does her own weird face, half grimace half smile. “I’m sure he does.”

Craig grinned at his baby. He had a great family.


	4. Renn

Renn. 4 weeks after.

A house with a baby is never fully asleep. A house with a coke dealer and born thief is never fully asleep either, but in this new life Renn finds she doesn't startle awake anymore, never too deeply asleep to be unable to smoothly tap back into wakefulness. 

She can hear voices coming from the main bathroom down the hall. She can hear Nick doing his soft baby breathing in the cot, and Craig isn't in the room. Deran must be home. 

She contemplates going back to sleep, but a check of her phone says Nick will be up for a feed again soon. Renn sighs, gets out of bed, finds a clean enough hoodie of Craig’s and walks on cold feet down the hall. 

The scene in the bathroom is becoming familiar. Craig trying to wrestle Deran out of dirt, blood, and vomit stained clothes and into the shower, Deran hopelessly insensible, possibly crying, slurring dark shit when he could even form words. It used to be the other way round, Deran never really having an appetite for this kind of oblivion, preferring pure adrenaline and a bit of weed to soften the crash. There was a time, when he was .. 13? 14? he would get shitfaced on whatever he could get his little grubby hands on and Renn would help Craig wrestle him home. Hopefully this too would pass. 

“Hey, I’m going to feed Nick in sec, you need anything?” 

Craig startles, looks up. “Nah, we’re good. Sorry about this. Again.” Deran takes this opportunity to lurch forward and split his lip on the edge of the bath, feeling nothing. Craig swears. 

“It’s ok.” She means it.

***

She ends up having to walk her baby up and down the road in front of the house to get him to settle again. Craig swears by it, says the sea air has healing properties. 

Renn still can’t quite believe she’s playing house and babies with Craig Cody. And that she doesn’t hate it, that he isn’t fucking it up so far. Oh, it isn’t easy, and she has a hefty rainy day fund stashed away for the second it doesn’t work out. Nights like these, with fussing babies and little brothers keep them up, it’s tempting. Cut, run again. See if her cousins have any work going. 

But she won’t. Can’t. There isn’t a word for what Craig is for her. Never safe or stable enough to last long, but always a shelter when she’s needed it most. And though they had never been exclusive, he is the only man she’s fucked in years. Who knows, maybe this will be different. A baby, no more Smurf...

Nick finally stopped grizzling, and they headed inside. The house is quiet when she gets in, Deran curled up unconscious on the couch in a t-shirt four sizes too big. Craig is still awake when she slips back into bed.

“You were right, that sea air really does the trick.”

Craig hums and curl around her. “Yeah, he loves the ocean. Can’t wait to get him on a board.” 

“Not long before he can have his first swim.” An idea strikes her, she turns in Craig’s arms and looks up at his closed eyes. “We should do something for it. It’s almost like a baptism or a christening or something, right? But better. I don’t want him in some church, and your family isn’t religious, are they?”

Craig smiles, open one eye. “Fuck no. I mean, Pope maybe, when he feels like it. But I like your idea. Will be nice to have a celebration.”

“We could invite my cousins. They haven’t met Baby Nicolas yet.” Craig gives her a look. 

“They know he’s my baby?” 

“I don’t think they’ll be surprised. They were never going to hurt you. I’ll never hurt you, baby.” 

Craig buries his face in her hair. His breath deepens and she’s just starting to drift back to the shallow sleep that’s become her new normal when Craig mumbles into her hair, “I’m worried about him. It’s getting worse. I don’t know what to do.” 

“Yeah. He’ll pull through again. You’re doing fine.”

“Why do you put up with all our stupid Cody shit? You just had a baby.” 

“It’s fine. I kinda expected it would be hard for him.” 

Craig pulls back, suspicious. “Why?”

“Craig, I know, ok?” Craig frowns, is clearly trying to work out how to lie to her face, but Renn stares him down. She feels like a monster when Craig buries his face in her hair again, goes very still, and then a fine tremor starts in his hands and then down long limbs, to his whole body. He isn’t crying, but she thinks it’s because he doesn’t know how to cry about this. This dark, hopeless thing he’s carried for his brother for so long. 

She remembers, like it’s a photograph, Craig’s face that night. 

Renn usually tried to avoid the Cody house, but her living situation had been in flux for a couple days and crashing there had been the easiest option. She just hid in Craig’s room, avoided the rest of the family and Craig brought her food. Just like old times.

It had been very late, or very early, after a nice day. Lazy and hot, too buzzed and fucked to be worried about much. She had his complete attention, both of them lost in a warm dark world of their own.

They hadn’t heard the door to the shared bathroom open over the music - not loud, but enough to mask most noise elsewhere in the house. But she had heard Deran, calling to Craig, standing still and not-right in the doorway, half hidden in shadow. His voice had sounded... she didn’t know. Wrong.

The effect on Craig wasn’t like anything Renn had seen before or since. Suddenly sober and closed off from her, solely intent on getting her out and shielding Deran from her sight. The only clear look at Craig’s face she had was of soul deep heartbreak and despair. 

Everyone had an opinion on how Smurf was with her sons, but Renn had seen it. She had spent the next two nights sleeping in a friend’s van and Craig had avoided her for months after.

“I don’t think you remember, but that time I stayed at the house...”

“I remember. You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“Yeah.” 

Craig didn’t save her from her mother’s house, but did provide enough to keep her going until her Uncle Nicolas could come, sweep her up, give her shelter and a means to never need her mother again. And here in the dark, smothered in the Cody’s secrets, she couldn’t be more grateful.

***

Renn usually woke first to enjoy the secret morning time to herself. Just enough time for coffee and the ever present roar of the surf. Go through the night’s messages, work out who wants what when and plan the day accordingly. 

The couch is empty when she gets up, but a groan and the sound of the toilet flushing means Deran has stuck around this morning. The look on his face when he emerges says that he won’t be ready to go anywhere for a while yet. 

Renn makes herself some coffee, sets some water in front of Deran where he’s slumped at the kitchen counter avoiding her gaze. She gets why he’s embarrassed, but really, come on, they’d both seen so much worse from Craig over the years. Fuck, Deran had probably seen worse from her. 

“So Craig and I talked last night. Think we might do a thing for Nick’s first swim in the ocean.” 

Deran cracked an eyelid at that. “Yeah? Like what?”

“Dunno yet. Just invite people down to the beach. Get him his first wet suit. Probably want a party after. Wanna host?”

Deran looks confused, not ready yet to think. “My house isn’t that big...” 

Renn fails to not smile. “No, at your bar, dumbass.”

“Oh. Yeah, that sounds cool.”

At that moment the bedroom door opens and Craig staggers past with an indignant Baby Nick in one arm, retrieves more towels from the hall closet and shuffles back to the en suite, muttering darkly about showers needing to change the sheets in the crib.

Deran groans and slinks back to the bathroom. 

Renn pours herself another coffee and pulls out her phone. She’s going to need to work out a date for this thing first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> story thus far. next 4 parts have been outlined, but no promises when they will be finished.


	5. J

J - 6 weeks after

J woke up with a headache. It persisted through a run, two glasses of water, coffee, breakfast and a handful of painkillers. A low, gritty ache behind his eyes and through to the base of his skull. 

Now, by mid morning, it is starting to piss him off. He hasn’t been drinking or staring at a screen enough to warrant this. 

Maybe he was getting sick? He hoped not. Angela was insisting on throwing Pope a birthday party, and by the amount of shit she was crating in it was going to be a massive, expensive mess. Even now he can see on the kitchen monitor another liquor truck pull up to the gate. The whole thing is eerily reminiscent of Smurf’s last hurrah. A sprawling shitshow that no one has the heart or stomach for. 

But it wasn’t the worst idea. They still have to maintain face. Prove to everyone they are just as strong and influential without the Old Lady. And parties are, on balance, a cheap and tidy was to make that point. So J freed up some cash and handed over a couple credit cards to Angela. 

That had been two weeks ago and J had regretted that decision ever since. Something about the party, or maybe the birthday, was getting under Pope’s skin. He kept trying to be involved, then getting overwhelmed and having to back off again. Or worse, calling on J to step in. J still wanted Angela to just disappear out of his life again, but he wasn’t willing to fuck up their wary truce over a party playlist. From the sounds of it Pope had been bitching to Deran and Craig as well. Getting fussy about cake flavours, but then not eating anything all day. Then he insisted on repainting the exterior of the house three days ago and hadn’t stopped to sleep since.

J always wondered where the next blow would come from, but these last weeks he suspects it will be Pope. And he has no plan for that. Smurf had never intended him to survive her. 

On the screen Pope is stalking toward Angela and the flaky dropkick friend she’d called in to help her set up. J decided that maybe a nap in a cool dark room might do him good. At the very least it’ll keep him out of Pope’s way. 

***

J woke again at 3.37pm. He’s slept almost five hours. But other than the headache is still slow grinding his skull and he’s in a shitty mood.

There is music and voices coming from outside. 

For a happy few minutes J contemplates staying in his room, skipping the whole thing. But he’s hungry and it rather defeats the point of an exercise in social capital if he just naps through it. 

He washes his face, drinks more water, takes more painkillers, braces his himself and steps out into the hall. 

All in all, it’s still pretty civilised. Over the couple years he’d been back in the Cody fold J had started to work out the complex web of social and business connections. Who was worth talking to, who was worth listening to, who just needed an invite. Who was a friend and who was just a friend of a friend. And who was just a shameless freeloader who wanted to say they had been to a Cody party. 

Renn was sitting in the shade by the pool, showing off her huge baby. Craig loomed nearby, ready to intercede the second someone held him too long. He had also insisted all week that they won’t be staying late. Pope had given him a ton of shit about this, but Craig was now fully possessed by Fatherhood and had started quoting probably fake statistics and anecdotal evidence that sounded suspiciously like it was from mommy blogs.

J scavenges some food from the kitchen. The pain is now spreading to his jaw and down between his shoulder blades. The music isn’t so loud yet, the chatter still relaxed and happy enough he couldn’t call it grating. But the fucking headache persists.

He drank some orange juice, tried to consciously relax, breath deeper. 

He hears Angela before he sees her. A frustrated “oh GOD it’s a birthday party, stop being such an asshole, it’s just a cake” and then she appeared in a swirl of sundress, more done up than he’d seen her in years. The now two week argument with Pope had failed to end with the actual party itself, and from the low growling that followed and the black look in Pope’s eyes as he continues to stalk after her, it may in fact carry on for some days yet.

“You didn’t ask me, you didn’t tell me that you were going to do that.” Pope wasn’t shouting yet, but he was breathing like he could at any moment. 

“I shouldn’t have to! It’s Julia’s birthday too!”

Oh God. J made himself scarce. 

****  
10.48pm, and J is debating the pros and cons of getting black out drunk. His head still buzzes away, resistant to drugs and alcohol, mood still low and shitty. But if he felt like this now he couldn’t face tomorrow hungover as well. 

The party wasn’t faring much better. Pope had flipped out just after 6, screamed something that had only kinda made sense, and locked himself in his room. Angela compensated by calling in some of her worse acquaintances and turned up the music. True to his word, Craig had swept up his baby and a highly amused Renn, and left. 

The atmosphere has changed. J recognises less faces and some those he did know he wished he didn’t. If the night ends without police, fire, or ambulance he’d call it a win. But stepping in now, without his uncles for back up would be a shit idea. May as well wait out the storm and just clean up in the morning.

Like when he was a kid. 

J snags the first mostly full bottle of.. something. Bottom shelf paint stripper, because he’s pretty sure Angela has ripped off her own party budget. He slips away to the furthest corner of the house, ends up in Craig’s old room, surprised to find that Deran had shown up after all. He is slumped on the couch, looking like total shit, drinking and smoking alone. They share a tired nod and J joins him. 

They drink in silence for a while, but the tight pain in his head, neck and jaw make J restless. And there’s something... something he’s wanted to ask Deran for a long time.

“What do you remember about my mom?”

Deran’s quiet, and J briefly wonders if he’s too fucked up understand the question, but when he answers Deran sounds almost sober. “Not much. Smurf said a lot of shit. I remember you. I remember her fighting with Smurf...” Deran goes quiet for a long time. 

The music changes and a group of girls J doesn’t know start having shitfaced drama right by the window. 

“She used to take Craig and me surfing, before you came along. I was real little, would sit on her board.” It’s so quiet J almost doesn’t hear him over a loud phone call on speaker and adjacent commentary from the girl’s friends.

“Yeah, she taught me too.” The memory feels warm in his head, inhibitions lowered enough that he doesn’t fight it down again. 

One of the drunk girls gets shoved onto the glass and the yelling picks up, breaking the soft memories of seawater and sunshine. Deran kinda lurches as if he wants to get up and yell at them, but can’t quite manage it, too wasted to do more than scowl.

They sit in silence, the party turning feral outside. Hopefully Pope will snap and clear everyone out soon.

“Do you still miss your mom?”

J thinks about it. He doesn’t want to share this, but figures Deran won’t be retaining much in the morning.

“Yeah.” he takes a drink, looks across at his uncle, wonders if in another life they might have been as close as Deran is with Craig. “I’ll always miss her. But I don’t miss being her son.”

Deran’s face does something complicated. “Yeah, I get that.”

Abruptly the music stops, the sound of Pope yelling cutting above the accompanying screams of uninvited guests that he has a gun and Angela losing her shit. As a social gesture the night is a bust, but as Cody family birthday parties go, not bad.

J realises his headache is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'll be posting the art for this chapter later on my tumblr - theninjazebra.tumbr.com


	6. Craig

8 weeks after

Craig doesn’t miss it, getting fucked up every other night. 

Yeah, fine, Renn’s cousins have been giving him shit all evening. His brothers have been giving him shit, various friends and known associates have been giving him shit. People he barely knew kept making settling down jokes.

Fuck them. Craig doesn’t miss it. Half that shit was just boredom, waiting for the next job, the next crisis. 

But right now, standing by the dumpster outside the Drop, listening to his friends and family celebrate, waiting for what was going to be a depressing as fuck phone call, Craig just wants to get high. And hit things. Or people. He wants to get shitfaced on whisky and see how fast his bike can go. Ride it straight into the ocean. 

No new messages. Fuck. 

Of course it wasn’t all boredom. Some of it, a lot of it, was just the best option available to Craig. When you can’t fight and can’t escape you just have to get as far out of your mind as you can. 

Craig never knew how to explain it. They had everything growing up - all the toys, all the fun, none of the rules. Apart from Family Rules. 

But some nights, or most nights, it felt like he was sinking through the floor. 

No new messages. He could call them, but if they don’t know what’s happening yet there’s no point. 

It was meant to be a happy day. His little boy’s first taste of the ocean, and everybody at the bar celebrating. And they did! For a moment everything was perfect. But now he’s here, next to reeking garbage, waiting for shitty news.

It’s not like Craig can’t get hold of drugs. Renn’s a fucking dealer. And if he ever wants a drink, Deran own a bar. And it wasn’t even intentional sobriety he just didn’t want to miss anything. Everything is just too important. 

Like the mannequin story. He heard it three times tonight but to this day can’t remember a single thing about that night (or much of the week before hand if he’s honest). All he remembers is getting up the next day and finding the fucking thing.

It had been a big week, there was a lot to celebrate. Deran had won his biggest ever competition. Renn was back in town after a year away. Someone else was some mid catastrophic break up, Craig was fuzzy on the who, just that it was messy and had involved arson. There had also been some shit at home, but wasn’t there always?

Apparently Craig had been found wandering around, covered in blood and broken glass, helping a still clothed shop mannequin along and introducing it as his good friend Sale. Accounts differ on what happened after that but one way or another it came home with him. 

A big night. And Craig has no memory of it. He remembers looking for someone, then nothing, and then a scraped up, slightly bloody mannequin in the middle of his kitchen. Tragically Sale and it’s ugly as fuck clothes died when his flat burnt down. 

Craig jumps as his phone starts ringing. Finally.

“How bad is it?”

On the other end Deran sounds tired but calm. “They’re not pressing charges. Apparently the dad has a schizophrenic cousin or something, he’s being all understanding. Cops have transferred him to a closed ward. So just the usual.”

Relief makes Craig dizzy for a second. 

“Ok, yeah ok, we can do that. Does he have a doctor right now?”

“We don’t know. J’s talking to that new lawyer. If he doesn’t have one it’s fine, he’ll get one now.”

“Yeah, ok. Shit, yeah, ok, ok.” Craig’s hands are shaking a bit, which is stupid, it’s good news. 

“Fuck, Craig are you ok?”

“Yeah, bro. Just been a big day.”

“Yeah. Hey, J seems to have it under control here, I’ll be back soon. Everything good there?” 

“Uh, yeah. I’ll get back in now.”

“Thanks.”

Craig slumps against the wall. Fuck, he misses Baz. And Cath. She could always handle Pope. He even misses Smurf. Craig doesn’t like thinking about Smurf in relation to his brothers, but at least she would know what to do, even if it was something that hurt them. 

He needed a drink. Just a like, two shots and to hold his baby and listen to the ocean and not think until the adrenaline crash has passed.

He straightens, deep breath, steps back into the warm light and noise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only a short one and not at all what i planned, but this felt more true. as usual i'll be adding artwork to my tumblr in the next day to accompany the chapter - theninjazebra.tumblr.com


	7. Deran

3 months after

Deran had been 21 last time he visited Pope in hospital. For most of his teens it had been a semi regular thing. Go see Pope so he knows we remember him Smurf would say. Except for some reason it was only Deran who ever actually visited. Sometimes Cath would too, but she is either living a new life some place or dead.

So yet again, here he is, the only person who’s seen Pope for something other than business in a month. It’s not like the others don’t care. J and their new lawyer, whoever-the-fuck, worked hard with the cops and that family. And once he was released from the locked ward they paid up to get Pope into a nice place, like movie stars come here nice. Deran was surprised that Pope agreed to it, but he guessed Angela had a lot to do with that. 

Pope’s voluntarily patient now, but it still kinda freaks Deran out, like some doctor will somehow look at him, see his thoughts and lock him up too. An old fear, from the first time he ever visited Pope as a kid. 

They’re sitting outside today, sun bright and hot. Deran’s not as punishingly hungover as usual, but he’s still in a cap and sunglasses, wishing they were inside. He really needs to find Heather’s replacement and stop closing up the Drop himself. 

“So... how are you?” asks Deran, draining his second energy drink of the morning. 

“Better than you” replies Pope. Deran scowls, fuck him for sounding so amused. How is he being judged by someone on that much medication. 

“How’s Angela?”

“Fine, got a new job. She and J haven’t killed each other yet.”

“Good, good.” Pope stares off at the sliver of ocean they can see between buildings and trees. “And you? Are you ok?”

Deran breaths. Tries to pin down a hurt, name it. Force it into human language. Exorcise one of the thousand demons biting at him. 

“Did you know? About Smurf? And, and...” This isn’t what he wants to ask.

Pope has a blank look, confused. 

“Never mind. It just feels like everything is coming down, all of it, all the shit, hitting all at once.”

Pope sighs. “Yeah, there’s been a lot of shit.”

“What about you?”

“What about me. I’m where I need to be right now. Are you where you need to be right now?”

“I.. I think so. I think... I’m just ..” Deran’s headache is making it hard to think.

“Is Adrian doing ok? Do you talk to him?”

Deran sighs. “He arrived at Jumpy’s place. I already had a few things lined up, so he’s not just standing on the side of a road somewhere. Seems to be doing ok so far. Jumpy’s girlfriend Alani, you remember her? Tall, green hair? I got her number.”

“But you haven’t talked to him.”

“No.” He’s too fucking hungover for this.

“Why?”

Deran feels hollow. This hurts so much he can’t feel it anymore, nerve endings maxed out. “He doesn’t want to hear from me, Pope. I’m the monster who fucked up his whole life.”

Pope looks sad. Deran kinda wants to punch him, but attacking patients seems a bad idea.

“Craig ok? He won’t visit while I’m here. I’m not mad, I get it, he doesn’t like hospitals.”

“Yeah he’s great. They all are. Who thought he just needed a baby to grow the fuck up.” Deran’s glad they’re on a safer topic. Pope smiles like he knows something. 

“I think he’s missing Smurf though.” Pope goes still and quiet. 

“I think he wants to show her his baby. And I know he’s missing Baz. Probably because he’s in that house, but...”

Pope’s face collapses. 

“Fuck. I’m-” Deran wants to punch himself now.

Pope waves him off, but doesn’t stop crying. Deran wishes he wasn’t the only person who will visit. He’s no good at making people feel anything other than shitty. But he’s the only one here, so he pulls Pope into a hug.

They don’t say anything else, but sit together until Deran has to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a short one. will post art soon, etc. might be a while before i do the next chapter, another Pope one, just cuz it's going to be hard.


	8. Pope

3 months, 3 weeks after

Pope had made his own way home, deliberately not telling anyone he was coming home today. He just wanted a few more hours to himself, before he became himself again. 

But he forgot, somehow, in the taxi. He didn’t know how he forgot, but he forgot. Now, stepping back into the house, there’s no mistaking the lack of Smurf. It smells wrong. Not bad, but not right. Standing in the cool, empty kitchen he guesses Angela must have changed the scents in the diffusers or something.

And there were other changes. Things have been shifting around, the steady tide of a household, accelerated every time Craig came round for more than an hour. Without Smurf there, enforcing her will on their environment, things were changing. Like her time in prison, but every change more permanent. Cereal moved to the bench, drifts of mail opened and unopened accumulating in a new basket by the landline. A table has been moved. 

It had already started before he... went away. But he had forgotten. And now it’s all too much again, feeling wrong footed. A surge of unnameable emotion, dizzying in its intensity, boils from Pope’s feet, up through to his head, and then is gone.

It leaves him tired, and he decides to rest before anyone gets home. Pope lies on his bed, in his unchanged room, resisting the perfume he knows is still in his wardrobe. 

***

Angela and J are talking quietly, cordially, and eating take out at the counter when Pope gets up. He gives them a fright. 

Pope knows the look in J’s eye. He doesn’t know who Pope is anymore. It’s the same look Craig and Deran would get every time he ... wasn’t himself. Or too much himself.

“Uh, didn’t know you were home today.” 

“I didn’t want you to know. Wanted to do this myself.”

“Ok. Are you hungry? Angela brought back burgers from her new job.” 

Angela watches him warily from her side of the kitchen island. They haven’t seen each other since the afternoon before he lost himself. It had been an ugly, bitter fight from the fragments he remembered. A fight that had devolved into something else, and then red nothing, and then holding cells and doctors and lawyers. 

“Yeah, I’ll have something.”

***

J heads out. There will be time enough tomorrow to find out what’s happening, where they are with the family business.

He sits with Angela by the pool as the day’s heat fades. They don’t say anything, and she keeps watching him. But when he finally turns in, he feels... home.

*** 

J and Pope spend most of the next day in cars, watching entries and exits, counting cameras. They need money again and soon. 

Pope talks J through the initial set up. Banks are always solid targets, but with their history they have to be careful. Seems they’re being tailed by cops again, too. Nothing serious, cops and Codys still feeling each other out in this new dynamic. 

“There is another option.” J isn’t looking at him. They're eating lunch by the beach, enjoying being out of a car for a minute, watching the plain clothes that’s watching them.

“We could just wash cash for someone else.”

“No.” 

“Frankie says-”

“NO. I can’t believe you would even consider it. Do you remember the last time we did anything for Frankie?”

“She’s useful, Pope. We need new contacts, everyone else is waiting to see if we can hold our own. The gold is almost all cleared. This needs to happen soon.”

Pope closes his eyes, breathes, tries to focus on the waves, the voices of strangers, the sound of traffic. He doesn’t kick the table, but he wants to so badly he fists his hands, hides them from view. When he opens his eyes J is watching him. The cop isn’t, fiddling with his phone instead. Fucking amateurs.

“I know we need cash. But we can’t trust outsiders. We can do this on our own. I know Frankie helped you with the gold. And you’re right. We need a new fence. But as soon as we start bringing in strangers we get all their shit too. Please, listen to me.” Pope’s jaw and teeth hurt with the tension in his words.

It can’t be like before. It can’t, it can’t. Angela told him about the will. He’s not just a bloody pair of hands. He can help. Pope doesn’t know what he will do if he’s ignored again. He’s better now. He will be better now.

J watches him through sunglasses. “Ok. What do you want to hit first?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's almost midnight, so i'll post art tomorrow. next chapter is almost finished, so there won't be such a wait next time.


	9. Renn

5 months after

Just before 1pm Renn finally gets the front door open and Nick out of his car seat. She pulls his nappy off and leaves him to grin like a snotty, pants-less idiot at his toys while she drags in bags of groceries, a new high chair, and three baskets of clean laundry. 

Fucking washer had died two weeks ago, so all the mountains of sheets and towels and clothes their house generated had to be shipped to the main Cody residence to be washed. Renn had never spent so much time there before. First thing Craig is doing when he’s back is picking up a new machine. 

And he better be back tonight, she was sick of playing secretary. Craig had forgotten his phone at home this morning, a testament to how tired he is, how tired they all are. He’s a couple hours away on an errand with Pope, so Renn has been answering and taking messages all day, and if it was important, calling Pope herself. Not a crisis, but yet another thing to do.

It’s been an exhausting, rough couple weeks. A sick baby, a dead washing machine, work is keeping her busy, and two big jobs in quick succession that had eaten up all of Craig’s free time and attention, even with the new arrangement. Craig voluntarily stepped down from doing the most dangerous shit. Things can still go wrong - most of his worst injuries have had nothing to do with jobs - but anything obviously dangerous is now done by someone else. Something Renn didn’t ask, but is deeply grateful for when he told her. 

Especially now. The last job had been an almost fatal fuck up. Pope done some quick thinking and Craig some heavy lifting, and in the end they had escaped free with a decent haul and only a broken foot (J) and three cracked ribs (Deran). 

God, she couldn’t deal with an injured Craig as well.

Renn had spent the morning running her own errands, just the mundane stuff she could do with Nick in tow. Deran was coming by later so she could work. She checks on Nick (still happy) and starts packing away groceries - mostly baby shit these days. And good god does Craig eat a lot.

Craig’s phone rings, like most calls it’s an unknown or private number. She puts it on speaker while shoving some leftovers in the microwave for lunch.

“Craig’s phone. Who are you, what do you want.”

“Hey Renn.”

“Adrian?” Holy fuck.

“Uh, yeah. Craig around?”

“No, he forgot his phone, Pope’s with him though. You want his number? Or Craig can call you? Or I can pass on a message?” Why is she so worried about this. He can just call back tonight.

“Nah nah, it’s all good. I can just text him later.”

“Yeah, ok. Hey, Adrian, you ok?” Not that she could do much if he wasn’t. 

“I’m fine, all good. Hey, don’t tell Deran that I called. I just, uh, wanted to see if everything was ok.” Renn stares at the phone in disbelief. 

She knows Deran is in contact with Alani. She’s pissed off now. Months of Deran falling apart all over her house and neither of them could work out how to call each other. Fuck, these idiots. In the ten years she’s watched them circle each other they never got any less stupid.

“Yeah, fine.” She hangs up. 

Probably too harsh. But it’s too much to be holding a baby, working, dealing with regular Cody bullshit, and playing relationship counsellor. Deran was only just starting to sleep some nights at his own house again (or more likely the bar, but anything was an improvement.) She angrily eats her lunch, and starts sending her own texts, a couple of which are to Craig via Pope about the washing machine she is buying right now.

Renn gets Nick fed and asleep before Deran arrives. He's stiff with healing ribs, but well enough to watch a baby for a couple hours. She wasn’t going to win any motherhood awards, but even she knows not to keep shit in the house, and definitely not have her son anywhere near clients. 

“You ok?” 

Renn stops in the hunt for both phones, car keys, handbag. She has a sudden double image of Deran at 7, tiny, scraped up head to toe, refusing to talk to anyone that wasn’t his family, peering out from Craig’s giant shadow, asking the same question. Again at 17, with some tragic facial hair, still scrawny, sun tanned and soaked in seawater, asking her is she ok, did she want him to call anyone. And now, 27, here to spend an afternoon texting his staff to find cover at the bar he owns and not smoke around her baby. How has she known him for 20 years now? 

“Yeah, sorry. Shitty day. He’s fed and changed, there’s bottles in the fridge and diapers-”

“Yeah yeah, I know, it’s cool.”

Renn is tempted to leave Craig’s phone there, txt Adrian that Craig was home now. Make those fuckwits talk. But honestly, the fall out wasn’t worth it. She's too busy for that shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok, so i just stayed up even later and finished this quickly.


	10. J

6 months after.

Pope drives J home from the doctor. With not much else to do, Pope has spent the last six weeks fussing over his broken foot. J cut his losses and lets him. They’re still learning how to work and live with each other and this seems like an easy thing to give.

J idly flips his phone round and round, trying to ignore how his ankle and foot itch worse now the cast is off. Trying to distract himself from Pope’s both precise and terrifying driving. Trying to find a way to tell Pope about the texts received from an unknown number late last night.

Joshua cody. Ur granmother killed my father. U and ur uncls stol our gold. We no were u all live. 

The rest was their home addresses, business addresses, their cars’ plate numbers, a few other details. And a place and time to meet in two days. 

Pope needs to know. So does everyone else, but first Pope. That’s the deal now - work together. 

But despite his best efforts J is still afraid of Pope, finds him hard to read an almost impossible to predict. Pope makes J feels like a kid, trying hopelessly to manage his mother, create order out of her chaos. J decides to wait until they’re no longer in a moving vehicle.

When they pull up to the house Angela is out, and Deran is leaving with the family stash of power tools. He looks worn, but the fact he’s working on the Drop again is a sign of healing, physically if nothing else. 

J limps into the house, followed by Pope, obviously studying his foot. As they step into the kitchen J gets the island between them, then cuts Pope off from repeating the doctor’s instructions again.

“I got a text last night. The survivalists, from the gold heist, they know where we all live, know we ripped them off. They want to meet.”

Pope’s face leaps through several stages of fury and paranoia, but to his credit he stays on his side of the kitchen, pacing, working his jaw and neck. J waits, tries not to itch his foot.

Pope stops, tries a few different breathing exercises, starts pacing again. 

J gets bored of this. “What’s the plan?” 

Pope glared. “The plan is you tell me shit-”

“I have. What’s next?”

Pope ground is teeth so hard J felt it in his own jaw. 

“Call Craig and Deran. We need cash and guns. Renn and the baby can go stay with her family. Angela... I’ll ask her what she wants to do.”

“Are we going to meet them?” 

Pope shifts restlessly, breathes, thinks. Tries to shake the tension out of his shoulders, working hard to calm down. J appreciates the effort, and stops fidgeting and relax his posture in turn. 

“Where do they want to meet?” 

“It’s near the pier, midday tomorrow.”

“Yeah, yeah, ok. We can do that.”

In the drive the piece of shit car Angela pulls up. They get to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooo To Be Continued...  
just a wee one, the next part shouldn't be too far off.  
not sure when i'll get some art up for the chapter as i'm currently away.


	11. Pope

6 months, 1 day after

The survivalists are late. They confirmed the meeting via text, but it’s 12.17pm now and nothing. Craig keeps speculating that they just don’t know about traffic. Pope can just see Deran watching the road north and when he turns he can see Craig watching to the south. 

J lounges on a bench, on the phone to Craig. Pope can only hear the tone of Craig’s voice, but know from many past experiences that he’s rambling, talking shit. He’s a professional, but Pope only has so much patience, hence why J is the one talking to him.

Pope can’t settle enough to sit still, so stands, shifting his weight from foot to foot, Deran periodically texting him updates. The wind has dropped, they’re getting hot and antsy. 24 hours of adrenaline and stress making this wait infuriating. 

His brothers are good look outs, but they also haven’t seen any of these guys’ faces. Pope feels exposed, despite the public location. He knows, logically, it was easier for the survivalists to have just killed them all months ago, before they knew they were being watched. But it still feels like an ambush, and that they have a right to want Cody blood.

He knows he’s getting on J’s nerves, but asks again anyway. “Anything?”

J hangs up on Craig, checks his phone, shakes his head. Pope paces, feels like insects are biting him. Scans the crowds again.

And there. A truck that doesn’t look right. Both Craig and Deran text at the same time. It circles round, then down the street to find a park.

Craig calls J just as Deran calls him. “Yeah we see them. Hang back.” 

It’s them. The nephews of a father so absent, so unmentioned he wasn’t even missed.

Pope hasn’t thought about that with any depth since that day. Any shock that he has family, that Smurf knew his uncle, his cousins, lost in the tar pit of blood, memories, and cold horror that followed.

But in the cool before dawn, loading guns alone, it couldn’t be ignored. Andrew Cody had an uncle. Cousins. A father. 

Julia and he had believed the story, when they were very young. A dolphin, one fin and one eye. Alone at night they wondered if they too would turn into dolphins, return to the ocean, find their father. And even when he was grown, old enough to see the dismissal for what it was, knew Jake and Billy for what they were, Pope felt closer to an imaginary dolphin than any idea of a human father. 

Two figures, dusty and camo-ed, approach. They aren’t visibly armed, but then neither are the Codys. Deran and Craig move closer, shifting casually from lookout to backup. 

But it’s not Odin, who Pope now realises he's expecting. Too young, too skinny. The taller looks similar enough to be Odin’s son. The other, even younger looking kid, is maybe a cousin. 

J tilts his head at the survivalists, but says nothing. The infuriating gangster act that Pope has started to loath even as it’s proven to be useful in situations like this. The presumed son of Odin seems caught between wanting to start a fight and apologise. Fuck, do the grown ups even know these kids are here? 

The crowds shift about happily in the sunshine, gulls sailing over head and flapping about under foot. Deran and Craig inconspicuously loom just out of Pope’s immediate eye line. J stares down the kids and Pope tries to stand still. He wants to yell, or punch someone. But they both agreed that J would take lead. Better people skills.

Odin’s kid speaks first. “You stole our gold.” 

J doesn’t move, doesn’t stay anything. Just dark sunglasses and relaxed posture. 

Odin’s kid scowls, straightens his posture. He reminds Pope horribly of his brothers when they were small. Pope wanders if they look alike, or maybe all shit scared, skinny white boys with more hunger than sense all look the same. “We want it back.” 

“Gold’s gone.” J is doing fine. Pope really wants something to happen soon. The younger kid keeps glancing to him then away, clearly on edge and ready to do something really fucking stupid. 

“Fine. Fuck the gold. We want what you buy with it.”

J arches an eyebrow. “Coke and jet skis?”

“We’re not stupid. We know you got buildings, businesses. You can wash cash.”

“And what do you need cash for? I thought you didn’t believe in society.”

The kid gets a dark look. “Jed didn’t believe in society. Kept waiting for a promised day when all his crazy bullshit would matter. Nah, guns have always been our business.”

“What does Odin say?” J forgets himself and turns to Pope in surprise. 

The kid looks pretty surprised too. “He doesn’t know shit about shit. Hated Jed when he was alive now all into his crazy.” 

J recovers, “so what, you want us to wash your gun money?”

“Yeah.”

“Not happening. We’re smart, and this dumb bullshit will get federal attention.”

The survivalists start forward, furious, the younger opening his mouth to say something that will no doubt be exceptionally stupid. Pope steps between them and J without thinking, getting in their faces, Deran and Craig move closer, ready to leap in. 

J speaks up from behind Pope, “However, I will sign over a couple smaller businesses. Teach you how to do this yourself.”

The kid stares Pope in the eyes for a long minute, then leans over, stares at J. J hasn’t moved once from his bench, flanked either side by Deran and Craig. They all look incredibly conspicuous and will need to move on soon. 

The kid lets out a breath, steps back, shrugs. “Yeah, yeah ok. Sounds good.” 

J leans back. “Good. I’ll get the paperwork together, meet again in a couple days to go over the details.” 

The kids seem happy with this, start to leave, and something kicks in Pope’s chest, makes him call after them. “Hey, what’s your name?” 

Odin’s kid turns back, a little cautious. “Claymore. And this is my cousin, Wolf.” Pope can feel Craig’s eye roll behind him.

“Ok. See you later, Claymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just posting this because i want to move on with the story. art etc posted at some point over at theninjazebra.tumbr.com


	12. Craig

7 months after

Craig wakes at 3am. He can hear Nick in his cot, cooing quietly to himself. Craig listens for a few minutes, waits for the first indignant squawk. Then hurries to get his baby up before he can wake Renn.

They’re doing this less and less now. Craig likes the extra sleep, but will miss this quiet little world. He can already feel how these last few months, this secret time, has been carved deep into his memory. How he will look back on it as something precious. 

Nick is instantly happier, smiling and waving his fat baby arms. Craig kinda gets it now, when they say his baby is huge. A good armful that’s not as easy to carry around for hours. 

Nick wriggles in earnest as Craig heats a bottle, flinging himself about. Of course their kid is a hard case, hell bent on concussing himself before his first birthday. Pope has already measured up the whole house for safety gates and attached plastic bullshit to every cupboard and drawer. 

As soon as he has the bottle Nick settles, the only noise now happy, muffled gurgling and the ever present roar of the ocean. Craig can feel the stupid smile on his face as his baby watches him with big blue eyes.

Craig drifts through the lounge toward the front porch. Stops, tense, at the sound of a low voice from outside. But it’s just Deran on the phone. Curious as to who the fuck his brother would be talking to at this hour Craig avoids the street light coming in through the ranch sliders and creeps closer.

Deran is sleeping mostly at his own house now, and if he does turn up he’s sober. Craig doesn’t miss cleaning up sick and blood every night, but he is missing having Deran around so much. Felt familiar, having someone to tease and talk shit with over breakfast. 

Craig holds his breath. From the tone of Deran’s voice Craig would bet all his emergency stashes it’s Adrian on the other side of the call. 

“... least I could do, man... well then it’s for Alani, I know how much you eat.”

Renn told him about the call. Craig got why she was pissed, but was also just relieved that Adrian was ok. He texted him, got rambling answers that said nothing in return, but begged that Deran be left out of it. Considering the total wreck his brother had been the past few months, Craig agreed. 

“I’m fine. Been the same... no, I ... no, I’m fine, really..” Deran is crying now.

Craig desperately wants to jump in. Wants to.. Something. To make it better. But from the go this was never something he could ever fix, no one could. Shitty luck and a shitty family name. 

Nick finishes his bottle and soon gets bored. No longer hungry, just awake, and wanting to get outside. He has started making a go at crawling. There is a dim sense that their world is about to change again. 

Craig slips out the back door before Nick can get too loud. Like magic as soon as they get a face full of cool sea air he calms down, stares wide eyed at the street lights. 

They stay down the side of the house, Craig careful to give Deran some privacy. But his voice carries anyway. Craig is awfully familiar with the sound of Deran crying as quietly as possible. 

“No, no I can’t come, I can’t. I can’t.”

Craig doesn’t know what to do. He sways gently, Nick staring and staring, quiet and completely awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> going to be more d/a from this point. idiot children.   
anyway, art etc later etc over at theninjazebra.tumblr.com/tagged/animal-kingdom


	13. Deran

**8 months later.**

Deran woke at 4am, cold and sudden. He stares at the Drop’s office ceiling for the eleven breaths it takes to calm down, then starts fumbling pockets and couch cushions until he finds his phone, cigarettes, and lighter.

He dreams about Smurf less frequently now, and when he does she’s no longer dying. But the dreams are still... different. Even compared to other nightmares, even nightmares that are also memories. 

Like the first time he saw someone die (hit and run, aged seven, standing outside a since closed surf shop, old drunk’s dead turned all the way around), or the first time he saw one of his brothers shot (Baz, bullet only grazed a rib, but Deran thought he had died for a whole 180 seconds). Or the first time Deran really thought he would die (aged eleven, alone, ran his mouth to the wrong shitheads. He wasn’t fine, but he wasn’t dead, and Pope found him and Deran knew they would never, ever come back, but he still has nightmares about them). Or the other dreams about Smurf.

But these dreams. It’s like her ghost is talking to him. Like she’s still alive in his head, reaching beyond the grave. 

It wasn’t a bad dream. He had been floating in the pool, and Smurf had been laying out dinner, then sat down by the pool, and told a bullshit story about sea lions that had been stealing gold jewelry from tourists. How she had just robbed their stash, and had baked a pie to celebrate. 

Deran watches the thin wisps of smoke catch the gritty sodium light. Can feel Cory, his new cook's, judgey scowl reaching him from 12 hours in the future. Deran misses Heather. 

When he checks his phone there’s a new text from Adrian. Turns out that after eight months two drop outs still can’t work out the time difference. 

_ I found baby nick’s grandpa  _

Attached is a photo of a crab under a trail of seaweed, giving an eerie impression of Craig. 

Deran doesn’t really feel like smiling, but feels something in his face move anyway. Replies  _ don’t talk shit about my fav nefew _ , drops the remains of his smoke in an empty bottle, and tries to go back to sleep.

*****

Deran feels his phone buzz, and pauses in the doorway of his office to check it. Adrian has been bitching about aussie tourists all day. Deran wants to kick himself for being so charmed by it.

Thing is, dumb, sort of flirty texts are kinda a new thing for them. Everything had always been so fraught, so fuckin dramatic. Deran is enjoying it, despite himself. They didn’t have this before - phones had never been safe enough, and then they were broken up, and then briefly circling each other, but life had been so insane, and then they had a fuckin house together.

Deran can feel Kai’s glare. He’s meant to be working tonight - fuck he needs to hire more staff again, fucking hospo turn over - but he can’t stay away from his phone. And with their family he can’t just leave it in his office.

_ Aren’t u also kinda a tourist? _

_ Nah man i’m a local now its a state of mind _

_ Ha ha _

“Deran!”

“Shit yeah, coming.” He leaps in, works steadily for an hour until there’s another lull. 

It’s nice, having something to even over the adrenaline highs and crashing lows of their lives. A steady hum of busy and low key drama (or not so low key, goddamn Anya - from now on he’s gonna need references for the boyfriends of his bar staff as well). Something to distract from the bone deep paranoia and anxiety. 

“Hey, want to help me interview people tomorrow?” 

Kai mutters “sure” as she charges past with a mop.

  
  


*****

5am. The ceiling of his own house this time, he can hear the waves outside. He had crashed out on the too short sofa, tv still flickering slightly. 

Deran still can't bring himself to sleep in their bed. Underneath all the miles of guilt and grief Deran still hurts. Can't help but feel that it was only ever a lie.

He taps his hand along the floor until he finds his phone, lurches up and outside, collapses back into a deck chair. Lights up. Breathes. It feels like his hands will never stop shaking.

_ I keep dreaming about her _

Deran doesn't know if or when Adrian will reply. But it feels so good to tell someone. 

_ It scares the shit out of me man _

_ Mostly not so bad. Just boring shit _

_ But it's also this dark shit. Memories all fucked up mixed together _

_ Been months and it wont stop _

_ It's like she's in my head. I cant evr get away _

_ She fuckd evry part of me _

Deran stays up, watches yet another sunrise. Cold hours alone, as usual. He feels barely awake, barely alive. Like he has turned into sea spray and soft morning light. 

His phone, with its 8% battery hums. Deran fumbles with numb fingers. 

_ Fuck thats shitty. _

Adrian is thousands of miles and betrayals away, and still the best comfort Deran has ever known. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was meant to be happy and flirty. rip.
> 
> art, etc, will be posted, etc, to theninjazebra.tumblr.com


	14. Renn

**8 months, 2 weeks after**

Renn kicks her legs, flicks her hair back out of her face. The air is cooling off now. Distantly she knows she’s been sitting here too long, that when she gets up everything is going to creak. 

Nick and Craig are having a Dad Day. Not the first, but perhaps the first where the reason wasn’t so that Renn could enjoy an unimpeded visit to a doctor or hairdresser or dentist or just spend the day in the water. She isn’t fighting with Craig, Nick hasn’t been any more grumpy and teethy than usual. Objectively, life is actually pretty good.

She doesn't know what’s wrong. Not unhappy, but like the ghost of unhappiness. Like a healing cut that’s itching. The temptation to scratch and open it up again. 

Renn watches the waves. Watches the feral girls tearing about. Feels like she’s spent her whole life, running with bare feet across hot asphalt and broken glass and cool wet sand. And now she’s just sitting here, watching.

Renn contemplates moving on. 

But somehow she keeps coming back to some huge idiot with a big heart and sunshine smile. Part of her will always remember him as he was she was thirteen - the only person who seems to see her and still give a shit. He fucking broke her heart when he turned out to be just like everyone else.

But maybe Renn's everyone else too. He fucks up constantly, but he also keeps choosing her, again and again. And here she is, half sure that if she stands up she’s going to run away. She picks at her sleeve, and realises she picked up Craig’s hoodie on her way out the door. First clean thing she saw, probably. House is a fucking mess again.

It’s almost dark when she checks her phone. It’s been on silent all day. Messages from pissy clients, maybe some fuckwit friend hoping for a freebie. There’s a couple from Craig. Nothing urgent, just photos of her baby being cute. 

When Renn stands up she feels wobbly. One ice cream around lunch time not enough. So fries, and a walk along the beach, feet in the water, shoes tied together and slung over her shoulder. She kind of feels like crying, and doesn’t know why. She fucking hates crying. 

Back to her car. Drives around for a while, realises she’s just a street away from the Drop. Pulls in. It’s an average kind of night, not dead but not heaving. Deran is working, in between half smiling at his phone. She catches his eye and he serves her ahead of a few others.

“You ok?” he asks. Fucking baby has the nerve. He still looks like hell. Thin, worn, eyes the wrong kind of bright. He’s not sleeping. 

“You look shitty” Renn replies, instead of telling him to fuck off.

Deran tilts his head in acknowledgement. “So do you.” 

“Do you think Craig would ever leave?”

Deran answers without hesitation. “Leave? Sure, but only if you and Nick are with him.”

Renn doesn’t have a reply, just looks at her drink. Thumping, grubby guitar and a dozen conversations rolling over her. Fuck, she’s tired.

Deran is called away. Renn takes two breaths and leaves, drink untouched. When she gets back in her car she knows, in the deepest darkest part of her, that she has to actually commit now. Or else she’ll just drive away. 

She’s still going to have a contingency, she’s not mental. And she’s going to have these days again and again. But if Craig can chose her fuck up self, then maybe, once in a while, she can chose him back. 

It’s dark when she gets in. Craig’s asleep on the couch, Nick dozing on his chest. Renn freezes in the doorway. They haven’t woken up. She can still turn back, run down the road. Shrug off his hoodie, kick off her shoes. Feel like that feral girl again, living on the beach, answering to no one.

But even when she was that girl Craig brought her scratchy blankets and cold pizza.

So she shuts the door behind her, slips off her shoes, picks up a hideous throw that Craig bought in a fit of nesting, fits herself along Craig’s side, and curls up with her giant boys. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a quick one. final stretch, I've got it drafted to the end now.


	15. Craig

10 months after

3am, and everything hurts. Craig is so fucking glad he didn’t take his bike this morning. Even thinking about doing anything other than slumping into his truck is too hard. 

He waves, well, kinda flaps one arm, at Deran as he leaves. They’ll have to talk at some point. Technically, the fuck up wasn’t Deran’s fault, he just zoned out and fumbled same time as the lights came back up. They had to leave half the cash and are all bruised and scraped to hell. Only up side is no serious injuries and that no one has the energy to have the inevitable screaming fight.

Craig will try to run damage control with Pope and J, but things can’t go on like this. 10 months and Deran is still a fucking wreck. There is no room for mistakes in their world. 

Craig pulls into his drive and out of his truck through sheer force of will. Renn and Nick are both asleep in their beds, so Craig face plants on the couch. Better not to wake them. He should probably clean up properly, but can’t be fucked.

Everything is hard right now. Nick is great, but Craig hasn't slept in what feels like years. Somehow Renn hasn’t bailed yet, but Craig knows she thinks about it. And in these moments, when he's tired in his soul, when he's too tired to even feel the fear and grief and worry, when it's just the ashes of adrenaline and too sober, Craig isn't sure what the fuck he's doing, or if he's doing it right, how the hell he's going to keep going. But then he falls asleep, and dreams of nothing.

*****  
He wakes again just as it’s getting light. Deran is outside, smoking. 

So he didn’t go home after all. This just isn’t getting better. 

Craig feels crushed with sheer unending hopelessness, but falls asleep again before he can work out what it is exactly that makes him feel like that.

This time his dreams are childhood memories, but there’s a foot of water flooded throughout their house.

*****

He wakes again at a more reasonable time, 11am, to tiny hands touching his face - gently at first, and then suddenly hooking one nostril and pulling hard.

“Ah! Fuck, Nick, no!”

Craig can hear Renn laugh from the kitchen. She joins him on the couch, hands him a coffee, picks up their baby and bounces him on one knee, texting one handed.

“How was it?”

“Better than I look. J’s all excited about his new cash washing idea. Should keep him out of our hair.”

She nods, “You need a doctor?”

“Nah, I’m good. Shower and aspirin. Deran still here?”

“Didn’t see him when I got up.”

Craig drinks his coffee, then reflexively moves it away when Nick lunges for the mug, misses, and thumps into some of the more tender bruising on his legs and chest. Craig hmms in an effort not to scare Nick by yelling.

“What do you want to do for his first birthday?” asks Renn, completely unsympathetic and not looking up from her phone.

“Huh, don’t know. What do people usually do?”

“I don’t know, you’re the one on the mommy groups”

Craig huffs. “He should have a Cody party.”

Renn hums, noncommittal. 

“I’ve got some shit to do. You alright with him for a few hours?”

Craig winces as Nick screeches in delight and jabs his tiny baby fingers at a cut on his face. “Sure.” 

Renn smiles the special smile she has sometimes, the one Craig can’t read at all, and kisses the baby’s head then reaches over and kisses Craig’s scraped up cheek. Nick uses this opportunity to grab Craig’s mug, dumping lukewarm coffee over their trashed couch. 

As Craig wrestles his baby and tries not to drop the mug, he catches a glance of Renn’s face just as she slips out the door. He doesn’t know about tomorrow, but today he’s fairly sure that she will be back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> three chapters to go and it's done. and then s5 can prove me all wrong.


	16. J

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two chapters to go. art may take a min.

** 11 months after**

J pays for breakfast. He would like to think it’s a power thing, but actually it’s because Frankie left as soon as she finished her vegan pancakes. Still. A productive morning.

After 11 months it seems Pamela Johnson has found out that Smurf is dead. J doesn’t know yet how it’s going to play out, and he wants to have a few ideas ready before bringing his uncles in. J is developing a grudging respect for how much work it takes to manage three self destructive assholes.

Next is a boring meeting with the lawyers about restructuring the business so J doesn’t have to pretend to be his own assistant over the phone. The new lawyer is young and terrifying and more than happy to be grossly overpaid to help wash their filthy cash. J doesn’t need Pope’s paranoia to know he’ll have to be careful.

J stops by the bowling alley. Clay isn’t in, but that’s fine, he’s just dropping off some papers. Their unsteady partnership is going as well as it can - Pope is still suspicious as hell and Deran and Craig are refusing to have anything to do with them. But J knows not all is well in the strange, paranoid survivalist world. For now they need the Codys more.

Besides, with Craig and Deran always ready to bail, he will need more people he can trust. J hopes they don’t. He likes feeling part of a family. But he doesn’t know how to make them stay. Threats? Bribery? Blackmail? He wasn’t Smurf, they didn’t fear him enough for that. He could ask Pope. Especially about Deran, still there physically but more checked out than ever.

Just as J turns toward the nicer of the two grocery stores on the way home, he gets a call and polite request to come down to the police station to answer some questions about a spate of break ins at some high end properties. Sigh, eye roll, sure.

It’s complete bullshit, nothing to do with them, and everyone sitting around on cheap office furniture in the small, antiseptic room knows it. The cops have been so up his ass the last couple of months J could probably let his psychopathic lawyer actually earn the grotesque fees he’s paying and push back a bit. 

But while this had been a waste of everyone’s time, as J leaves he catches sight of Detective Yates, watching him from the other side of the bullpen. 

****

Angela is home. There is food, ordered in since no one can cook more than soggy pasta or burnt toast. She waves a serving spoon in greeting, and J drops his messenger of paperwork and nice organic totes of over priced groceries on the bench. 

They manage two minutes of eating in silence before “You ever going to get a girlfriend?” 

J shrugs, but the question is one that he has thought about. Part of him would like to. But another part of him feels like he’s still picking Mia’s brain matter out of his hair. Still washing Nicky’s blood off his hands.

Pope stomps into the house. “You get the dog food?” He’s fighting with the new neighbours about their dogs, doesn’t like how they’re kept.

“Yeah, in the bags.”

“We should have a family bbq” says Angela, because she also doesn’t want to fight about the dogs anymore. 

“Why the fuck would we do that?”

J picks up his plate and moves outside. Angela is good for Pope, gets him out of his head. But J has a very low tolerance for their bickering. Reminds him too much of Julia’s shittier boyfriends.

He gets a text from Craig around cigarette number two. It’s an invite to baby Nick's first birthday.

Fuck. It's been almost a year. 

He replies yes. But he feels cold, like the gun in his hand, and shocky like the echo of a gunshot.

Evening light and lazy cigarette smoke, an invite to his tiny cousin's party, a half scrambled together empire, the almost comforting sound of Pope and Angela talking in the kitchen. He's not the same kid who arrived with nothing.

And if he fucks up he could lose it all again.

  
He texts Deran.  _ What the fuck do u buy a 1 yr old? _


	17. Pope

**1 year after**

Angela switched her light off around 11pm, dropped her book on the floor, and started to snore. Pope is too used to insomnia to be bothered, lies still, waits until he’s sure Angela is in a deep sleep.

Around 12.30am he slips outside, fetches something from the garden, gets dressed. The house is lit by security lights and the glow of the pool. He fetches his keys, gets into the new truck, and drives out to the desert.

It’s a dead calm night, the sky endless and glowing. He parks, gets out, stares at the dirt, long healed over. It’s stupid, dangerous, risky. He shouldn’t be here. Pope is good at spotting tails, a goddamn professional, but you never know until you do if someone is better than you. So despite wanting to, he doesn't leave the flowers he brought with him. Instead he heads back to the coast, leaves them in the surf. 

There has been so much death in the last few years. It doesn’t feel like there will ever be enough time in his life to mourn everyone. 

It’s getting light when he gets home and climbs back into bed. Angela is awake, but doesn’t say anything. She lies with him, listening to a quiet house and the neighbour's dogs barking. 

*** 

J is fresh from his run when Pope and Angela get into the kitchen for breakfast. J would have heard the truck return. They don't say anything, but something important is communicated in that silence. It’s a quiet breakfast in a quiet house, so far from the days of his brothers and their various strays and girlfriends, when J was a baby and Pope was still teaching Deran to read. 

Pope goes for an ocean swim after Angela leaves for work. He doesn't often anymore, but it feels good. At one time he would do this almost every morning. Him and Julia. And then also Baz. Baz couldn’t swim when he first arrived, but he learnt and got pretty good, trying to keep up with Pope. Learnt to surf too, once Julia taught him.

Pope swims until the night is burnt from his muscles and lost in the salt and it feels like a new day.

***

Without discussing it, they all congregate at the house. Not doing anything except being together.

Renn and Craig turn up around lunch time, with the usual car load of baby crap and giant grumpy toddler. They’ve finally cleaned up from Nick’s first birthday, all agreed to never let Craig plan a child’s birthday party again, Renn finally barring him from the mommy blogs.

Renn gets in the pool with Nick, who changes gears to violently happy the second his skin touches water. Truly a Cody. J approaches and makes an effort to be friendly with Renn. There has been some glancing friction between them, Renn resenting the attempts at being controlled and J not coping with her pointed refusal to reply to any message. Pope thinks it's nice they're trying.

Craig is quiet. Craig's silences always seem loud, his huge figure hunched, watching his baby splash, drinking slowly. Pope and Renn exchange a look, a silent pact to keep an eye on him.

Deran is the last to arrive, mid afternoon. Pope stops his slow circuit round the pool to watch him. His baby brother is sober, not hungover, and still he looks worse than ever. He crashes out in a chair a little ways from everyone else, only interested in his phone. Pope and J talked a couple weeks ago and agreed - something had to change. So they're taking a gamble, though this goes on much longer they won't have much to lose.

There is food in the kitchen, but no one is hungry except for Nick. No music playing. No conversation lasting past a few exchanges. Just distant traffic noise and the intermittent dog bark. 

Angela gets home but is quiet, reads her book. She does this sometimes, surprises Pope by being unexpectedly kind and sensitive. 

By a half murmured agreement they all go to the beach to watch the sunset. Angela and Renn talk about nothing and try to stop Nick from eating too much sand or crawling into the ocean. J struggles to find something to talk about that isn’t work, and ends up being saved by a long story from Craig about an old boyfriend of Julia’s who is now on the city council, despite being the biggest dropkick in their circle for years. Deran doesn’t say a word, stays close to Craig like he did as a kid when he was around people he didn’t know.

Renn, Craig, and Nick leave first. Nick is grizzly and tired, Craig sobering. J heads out next, gives Angela a ride home. He nods a Pope as they leave. 

Deran is staring out at the last burn of red on an otherwise dark sky. Pope settles down next to him, pulls out his phone, opens his email app, and forwards something to Deran.

“Your flight leaves tomorrow afternoon. I’ve forwarded you the details. Figure that’s enough time to pack 10 days of clothes.”

Deran is slow to reply, visibly working through this statement. “What the fuck are you talking about? Do we have an out of town job?”

Pope smiles, for what feels like the first time this week. “No. We booked you a flight to Indo. Return flight.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Figured you need to go see him. I want you to come back though.”

Deran turns back to the water, doesn’t hide that he’s crying. They stay a long while, then trudge over soft sand back to their cars. Deran doesn’t say goodbye but does promise to return.

Angela is in bed when Pope gets home. He doesn’t sleep until dawn, but listens to Angela’s half snore and the barking dogs next door. And finally lets himself remember what happened 1 year ago. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one to go. next chapter is Adrian.


	18. Adrian

**1 year, 1 week after**

Deran has always slept badly, always the last to fall asleep and first to wake. But travel seems to have fucked with him, and Adrian enjoys the rare pleasure of watching him sleep, pinned under Deran’s arm and leg. He’s not staying. Made that clear. And he’s kind of glad for that. 

Adrian is just starting to get used to his new life, and if he’s honest he’s not over Deran leaving him. Not over having the shit kicked out of him, not over Dave being almost drowned, not over being used then ignored. Not over lying their bed next to Deran, in their house, finally happy, and knowing that he’s about to rip them apart, and this time it’s all his fault.

Adrian’s only just moved into his own shitty little flat, god bless Jumpy and Alani, the fucking generous weirdos. His job is lame and frustrating and boring. He misses home - the people, his family, the food. The weather is shittier here, the tourists are worse. But some stuff has grown on him over the past year. There are some cool people, locals, other exiles, free spirits that pass through on their migratory loops. He’s found new food to love and the surf is as good as everyone says.

He got bored of being angry - with Deran, with the cops, with Jack. He’s still angry with himself some days, but it all got too heavy. Once, Adrian was a pretty happy guy, and he missed being that person most of all. He’ll never be that kid again, who’s biggest issue was disappointing his father. But maybe he doesn’t need to be the bitter, terrified, angry liar he became. Maybe he could be happy, productive. A new person in a new country.

And then he got a terrifying phone call from Pope demanding that he take the week off work with no context. Adrian came home at the start of his week off (Pope was special in his ability to intimidate even an entire Pacific ocean away) to find Deran slumped in his tiny flat’s doorway, asleep. For a second Adrian didn’t get it, there was a time when this was normal, finding Deran hiding out in his room, or dozing on the backseat of his car, locks be damned. And then the next breath realised that, no, it’s now, and Deran is here, looking like total shit. 

It's been strange, like their whole 15 year relationship in a week. They’d surfed, had a fight, fucked, had a play fight, had a real fight, got wasted and told secrets, fucked more, surfed more. Yesterday they had a truly ugly fight, they had not talked for 6 hrs, and then Deran crawled into Adrian’s bed, said nothing, just looked at him with those fucking eyes and fell asleep curled along his side.

Fuck, it’s good to have Deran back in his bed, even for a little while. After a few days he’s starting to look better, less like he’s had a year of hard drinking, not sleeping or eating enough, regularly getting the shit kicked out of him. Flashes of the feral kid Adrian couldn’t keep his eyes off as a confused, horny teenager. The first time they kissed Adrian couldn’t believe that someone so wild, so hot could want him in return. He likes to think he’s grown out of that shallowness, that he now knows Deran better, knows the cost of all that fearlessness. But moments like this, even with all the history, Adrian feels like he’s still losing every other breath. 

He runs the back of one finger, barely touching, along Deran’s brow. Nothing. Used to get him a flinch, sometimes a growl and a sleepy glare. If Adrian couldn’t feel Deran’s breath, he’d worry. 

Adrian never had trouble sleeping until he got busted. He doesn’t know what it means that he’s awake at 4am now, feeling like electricity is jumping under his skin.

Theirs is a fuck up of a relationship that just won’t end. Can’t make it work and can’t let go. And perhaps to illustrate that point Adrian shifts, wraps his arms around Deran, rolls them until he has him pinned, and buries his face against Deran’s neck as he flails about, grumbling about being woken. He holds on until Deran settles, starts drifting off again. 

He’ll need to let go in two days. But the fact of them in this moment, together, is a good start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art on it's way, etc. Cheers, it's been wild.


End file.
